


We'll Rule the World

by destimushi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean, Bottom Dean Winchester, Bottom Dean Winchester/Top Sam Winchester, Demon Blood, Demon Blood Addict Sam Winchester, Demon Blood Addiction, Demon Dean, Demon Dean Being an Asshole, Demon Dean Winchester, Dysfunctional Family, Dysfunctional Relationships, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, My First Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester Fanfic, Power Bottom Dean, Rough Sex, Sam Winchester Drinks Demon Blood From Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester on Demon Blood, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers, Smut, Top Sam, Top Sam Winchester, Violent Sex, Wincest - Freeform, dubcon, motel sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2015-10-19
Packaged: 2018-04-27 02:06:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5029531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/destimushi/pseuds/destimushi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The demon within Dean was eating away at his humanity, until he questioned if he was even still alive. When he desperately needed a reminder of life, Dean finally reached out to his little brother, Sam. </p><p>Sam wanted to help Dean in anyway he could, but what Dean asked of him was beyond a line even he was willing to cross.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We'll Rule the World

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [我们将统治世界](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11204844) by [lucy26](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucy26/pseuds/lucy26), [WincestJ2CN](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WincestJ2CN/pseuds/WincestJ2CN)



> This is for my lovely twin, for she always gives me the most deliciously evil ideas. Also a huge thanks to my beta, ShayLeone, she always brings my work to a whole new level! 
> 
> I've always shipped Wincest, even if I'm willing to go down with the Destiel ship any day. This is my first ever Wincest story, I hope it doesn't disappoint!

Drip, drip, drip. 

The echo was distant, yet persistent, eager to invade the otherwise serene darkness that engulfed him. Sam stirred dazedly, and it was a struggle. Like waking up from anesthetic. At first, there was no light, just the constant sound of the broken tap and the heaviness of his limbs. Then there was pain. It was dull, faded, like the ghost of a memory that was trying to claw its way to consciousness. Other noises came next, adding layers to the dripping. The buzz of an old radio, playing a song that he should know, a rustle of fabric against skin, the sound of someone swallowing. Who was in the room with him?

Sam blinked open his eyes, squinting slightly, and a sudden rush of awareness overwhelmed him as he staggered into consciousness. The room swam into focus slowly. Typical 70’s decor, back when they used the most hideous brown shag carpet—at least it wasn’t patterned—and all the wallpaper varied between mustard yellow and tasteful puke green. This was his motel room, that much Sam remembered as he tried to reach for his head, wanting to brush the strand of stray hair from his eyes. His hand froze, or rather, he was unable to move it. Panic set in as Sam glanced about him, and noticed that his hands were secured to the arms of his chair. How the hell did he end up in a chair?

He tugged on the ropes, the muscles of his forearms bulging and shifting as he tested for give in his restraints. Whoever had tied him up knew a thing or two about keeping people immobile it seemed, not to mention how strong Sam was. A whisper of movement behind him caused Sam to freeze, his breath catching in his throat. Tentatively he angled his neck , and was slightly relieved that he could at least move his head. A small victory, but in this situation he would take it.

The triumph was short lived, however, when he caught sight of the person who was in the room with him. “D-Dean?” Sam’s voice came out a croak, and felt like sandpaper, the sound alien to his own ears. How long had he been out?

“Ah, sleeping beauty finally awakens,” Dean replied pleasantly, a bottle of half empty beer rolled between his palms as he strolled around his brother. The bed creaked slightly as the elder Winchester sat down on the edge, sprawling his legs out casually with the ankles crossed. “Hello, Sammy.” 

“Dean?! What the hell–” Sam frowned, his hands balled into fists as he struggled once more against his bonds. “Let me go! What is the meaning of this? And where the hell have you been? Cas and I have been looking all over for you!”

Dean gazed into Sam’s eyes, his expression unreadable. He watched his brother struggle, noted the rub of skin against rope, and narrowed his eyes a fraction when that tender skin finally broke under the pressure, the scent of blood filling his nose. He brought the bottle back to his lips, sucking back the taste of hops until the burn of carbonation chased away the heady sweetness that threatened to overwhelm him. Not yet. 

Beer dribbled down Dean’s chin, and it was all Sam could to to rip his gaze away from the bob of Dean’s Adam’s apple. It was a reminder of better times, when Dean used to stare at him over the rim of a bottle, his cheeks rosy from the buzz, combined with need and embarrassment and a silent plea for anything that Sam would giving him. Sam shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut, this was not a time to think about that, definitely not a good time to think about that…

“Sammy…” Dean’s voice was a sudden whisper against his ear, the proximity made him jump. When did Dean get behind him again, and so close? He hadn’t even seen the other man move. “Sammy, Sammy, Sammy…”

“W-what Dean?” Sam swallowed, but kept his eyes shut as he shied away from the warmth of Dean’s breath. 

“I know what you’re thinking,” Dean replied, his lips brushing against the sensitive curve of Sam’s ear. A shudder, followed by a hiss of breath, and Sam all but jumped, practically lifting the chair up with him. 

“Dean, this isn’t funny,” Sam’s voice shook. Damn it. “Untie me and we can talk. We need to talk. Charlie’s been making really good progress with the decoding, and with luck we can finally remove the mar–” Whatever coherent thought Sam had put together evaporated as Dean’s teeth grazed against his exposed neck before sinking into the tender flesh, breaking skin. The pain sharp and to the point; Dean was running the show here. 

“Have you ever thought that maybe I don’t want this thing removed?” Dean countered, his tongue flicked out to drag a slow, obscene lick along the bite mark then swiped over his lips, sampling the taste of Sam’s skin and blood on his mouth. “Maybe I like the disease, and maybe...I want to drag you down into the mud with me.” 

Sam went rigid at that, his heart hammering rapidly inside his ribcage. “You don’t mean...you can’t…” 

“C’mon, aren’t you even the least bit curious, little brother?” Dean straightened up and walked around to face Sam. Fact was, Sam was not so little now, and both of them knew it. “I remember how you used to lap it up like it was syrup, I remember the look in your eyes, and those dirty, filthy moans you made in the dark when you rode me into the mattress as you drank it all in…” He stared down at Sam, delighting in the shivers that broke out across Sam’s skin and the increasingly frantic, caged look growing in those hazel eyes.

Dean smirked as he swung his legs around Sam’s thighs, straddling him and sitting squarely in Sam’s lap. “Imagine what it’ll taste like now that I’m a full-fledged demon.” Shiny green eyes were replaced by black as Dean blinked slowly, the sheer bottomlessness of those mirror surfaces made the glint in those eyes look all the more wicked.

“N-No Dean, stop this! This isn’t you!” Sam was beyond uncomfortable as Dean wiggled experimentally, clearly getting more comfortable. He tried to buck his hips, but the struggle was futile as he only succeeded in bouncing Dean closer, until their noses almost touched. “That was different, you were human, it was safe. There wasn’t any risk. You know I can’t now, not with you like this…”

“Don’t even try and fool yourself into thinking that I wasn’t dangerous back then too. Just because I’m your brother. And besides, you _want_ to open me up again because you _need_ it.” Dean’s voice was a husky whisper, full of lust and dark promises, and Sam could taste the memory of Dean’s breath on his tongue. “You never forgot the taste, you craved it, savoured it, basked in it. But deep down you knew what I gave you back then was a cheap imitation, like watered down wine. But now...now I have the real thing. I’m the real deal, and I’m mighty tasty.” Dean pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, and as Sam watched with increasing horror, bit down hard. 

Blood welled up, then spilled over down Dean’s chin. He smiled, his teeth stained crimson. Sam tried to back away, turned his head to the side as the scent invaded his nostrils. This was _demon_ blood, and not just any demon blood, but _Dean’s_ demon blood. The sweet coppery aroma made his stomach clench, and his nails dug into the palms of his hands as he balled his fists. He struggled against the pull, his heart was pounding erratically, and at some point a low, keening moan slipped out between his laboured breaths. 

Goosebumps trickled across his shoulders and down his arms as fingers slid up the back of his neck into his hair.

Dean massaged gentle circles into the base of Sam’s skull with his fingertips for a moment, before tightening his grip abruptly, yanking Sam’s head back to expose the skin of his throat. He leaned forwards, nosing against Sam’s pulse, and breathed in the scent that was so uniquely Sam, mixed with sweat and cheap motel soap. It was a smell Dean was familiar with, and delighted in. The fear running beneath that smell was new, however, and drove Dean into a frenzy. He grinned, feeling the split in his lip pull and spill fresh blood. He ran his tongue along Sam’s skin, smearing red across that unmarked canvas. 

Dean didn’t have to look at Sam to know the effect this was having on the younger man. Just the smell of blood was a slippery slope. He moved his lips higher to graze over Sam’s stubble covered jaw, and felt the clench of muscles as Sam fought back the nauseating need. He inched closer until his mouth hovered above Sam’s, blood dripping down his chin to land on Sam’s chest, soaking into his plaid shirt. “You know you need this Sam. Just a little lick? A tiny taste? Imagine the power you’ll have over me. You could do anything and I would be nearly powerless to stop you. Is that what you want? To pin me down and abuse me? Bite and lick and claw damage into me just because you know I can take it?” Dean whispered, his voice soft as it bridged the gap between them. 

It was an effort to stifle the groan that mental image brought. Sam breathed carefully through his nose—steady inhale, one, two, three, exhale—and squirmed, his nerves prickling. The heat of Dean’s skin so close to his own was all encompassing, and Sam didn’t have to imagine what Dean’s mouth would taste like, the memory of it clear and fresh in his mind. Dean’s breath smelled sweet, edged with the sharp tang of beer and laced with a copper undertone that was distinctively blood. Sam closed his eyes, feeling equal parts exhilarated and nauseous as the scent set his blood boiling. 

There was a flick of tongue against Sam’s lips, warm and wet and inviting, and for a moment Sam almost caved. There was a high whining sound, and Sam was horrified to realize that he’d made the noise. Jesus, how desperate was he? He forced his eyes open, and levelled as flat a stare at Dean as he could. It took perhaps a split second for him to throw his weight backwards, and then abruptly forwards, slamming his forehead against the front of Dean’s face with measured precision. He was rewarded with a surprised yelp from his captor, and barely registered those black eyes fractionally widening before the chair rocked dangerously backwards again. 

For a moment, Sam thought he was going to fall flat on his back, but the tip halted as Dean leaned away from Sam, using a firm grip around the chair arms, and balanced the momentum, pulling Sam and the chair back into an upright position. Dean clucked his tongue in disapproval, shifting his weight across Sam’s lap, and sliding one hand up through Sam’s hair again. His fingers tightened until pain pricked Sam’s scalp. 

“Dean. Dean, please. Stop this. Stop this now!” 

“You mouth says stop, but your body seems to want the exact opposite.” Dean sniffed, and dragged a finger beneath his bleeding nose, glad that Sam hadn’t butted him hard enough to break it. He studied the blood for a second, rubbing it between his fingertips, and then smeared the sticky liquid across Sam’s lips before rushing in for a crushing kiss. 

Sam struggled to keep his lips sealed, and he was doing a fine job of it until Dean’s fingers spasmed around a fistful of Sam’s hair, yanking until Sam gasped in pain. Dean’s tongue slipped between Sam’s parted lips, and pressed forward to fill Sam’s mouth with his blood. Sam moaned as the sensations rushed into him, but nothing was as intoxicating as the spread of blood across his tongue. The taste alone was enough to make him shiver, but underneath was something else, something dark and sick and dangerous. Power. The suggestion of destruction. This is what he’d tried so desperately to forget, but with Dean holding him fast, licking around the inside of his mouth, the tingle starting across his tongue was impossible to ignore.

The world shrunk, and everything evaporated except for the taste of Dean’s mouth. All traces of self-imposed restraint disappeared when Sam accidentally swallowed, trickles of Dean’s blood running down his throat, and the dam broke. He nearly growled, his skin on fire, and kissed Dean back with equal fervor. His wrists ached where the ropes dug in, and he expected there would be welts afterwards, but he didn’t care. He nipped Dean’s bottom lip, sucking at the split skin and lapping greedily when it started bleeding again. He licked across Dean’s chin, along his jaw, and down his throat, pausing over the pulse thrumming on the side of Dean’s neck. It was a struggle to not bite, to keep from breaking skin and bleeding Dean out where he sat. But Sam wanted to. 

Dean knew then that he’d won, and smirked, ripping through the ropes holding Sam’s wrists with his newly gained demonic strength. He brought Sam’s wrist, one at a time, to his lips, and licked at the raw skin, cleaning up the blood there. Sam’s eyes glazed over as he watched Dean’s tongue lap and flick, and remembered how that tongue had felt running along the shaft of his cock. 

They stay this way for a moment longer, Dean sitting still in Sam’s lap, his body buzzing with barely contained excitement, and Sam’s hands roamed freely, across hips and ribs and shoulders, and up through short, brown hair. All at once, one of Dean’s arms went around Sam’s waist, pulling them firmly together, and he lifted the other, the one bearing the Mark, and hovered it in front of Sam’s lips with a slow smirk. 

Deep, repressed longing surfaced in a burst of need, and Sam mouthed mindlessly at the brand on his brother’s forearm, relishing in the metallic taste of it, the heat of it on his tongue as he moved to the underside of Dean’s wrist, tracing the path of veins there. The blood was close to the surface, and Sam dragged his teeth against the paper-fine skin, drawing a hiss from Dean. He nosed against the Mark again, his breath coming in pants, and a tiny buck of hips from Dean nearly undoes him. He needed more, so much more than the teasing trickle Dean fed him earlier. 

Cotton fabric rips, and the sound of shredded stitches echoed off the walls as Sam yanked Dean’s shirt open in one frustrated tug. The sound of buttons bouncing off multiple surfaces was muffled by a groan and a low growl from Dean as Sam latched onto a sensitive nipple, using tongue and teeth to lick, pull, pinch, and nibble until Dean dissolved into a writhing mess. The chair rocked back onto two legs when Dean rocked against Sam, looking for friction, and toppled a second later, sending both of them onto the floor in a mess of limbs. Lying on his back, Sam panted, feeling dizzy and delirious. “Fuck, Dean...what have you done?” 

Straddling Sam’s hips, and holding some of his weight on his forearms, Dean stared down, his black eyes flashing. “I’m setting you free.” He dipped forwards, sliding lips and tongue against Sam’s mouth again. 

Sam threw his weight upwards, catching Dean off balance enough to roll them over, and pinned his brother against the dirty carpet. He growled as Dean writhed, tangling one leg around Sam’s and a hand in his hair. Sam turned his head, seeking the underside of Dean’s wrist again. It didn’t take much, all Sam had to do was force his teeth downwards, and Dean bled easy.

It hurt, but the pain was nothing compared to the sharp sting of Sam’s teeth as he dug into Dean’s wrist, further splaying the skin and sucking aggressively. It was a pleasant hurt, though, a feeling that reminded Dean that he was still, in his own twisted way, alive. Sam’s movements were frantic, like a man dying of thirst discovering water. He drank, and drank, and Dean brushed the fine silken locks of his hair from his face, carding his fingers through Sam’s hair like he used to when they were both kids. 

The Mark grew warm with warning, but Dean ignored it, twisting underneath Sam get at the knife sheathed on his calf. His fingers wrapped around the hilt, and he yanked it upwards. A gasp let him know that he may have nicked Sam on the way, but it didn’t matter. Dean lay the blade against his forearm, watching Sam at his wrist, and just as Sam glanced up, eyes blown dark and predatory, Dean sliced. Sam attacked the new wound, vicious and without mercy, nearly yanking Dean’s arm loose with the force. Dean shook his head against encroaching dizziness and he pulled Sam flush against him, whispering breathy sounds against that long hair as Sam drank him down.

Twice more Dean had to cut flesh before Sam was satisfied, and the entire lower half of his face was smeared crimson as he finally came up for air. There was a look about him, pain, anger, betrayal. Dean ran a finger along Sam’s bloody cheek, the younger man shivered at the touch but did not move. “Better?”

“ _Better_? What the fuck Dean…” Sam’s voice was soft, thick and hoarse with barely controlled rage boiling just beneath the surface. “ _Why?_ ”

“Because I wanted to.” 

“You’re fucking evil.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Dean smirked and reached for the buttons of Sam’s shirt. His damaged wrist didn’t quite bend properly, the wound still weeping faintly, and it was possible Sam did more damage than he’d originally thought. But Dean would heal, he always healed these days. Sam slapped Dean’s hands away and growled. 

“No, Dean, not like this.” Sam swallowed, looking away, and tried to curb the swirl of desire in the pit of his stomach. Power licked at him, filled him up, begged for release. But the grief was stronger at the moment, that utterly wrecked feeling of betrayal, and Sam felt sick again. The fact that Dean felt absolutely no remorse over the fact that he’d essentially just damned Sam was perhaps the worst, and it made Sam hate him just a little bit more. “This is so wrong…” 

“No, it’s not. I can see it in your eyes Sam, you want this. You want me,” Dean replied, looking lazy and unconcerned. “Stop making excuses for what you are. Just give in. There’s plenty of blood here, in this body, and you can have it all.” Dean made to reach for the knife again. Sam’s eyes blazed with anger and something snapped as he glared at Dean. 

“ _No._ ”

Dean froze then, not necessarily by choice, but rather by the sheer force of will that Sam exerted. It was an invisible energy, but for all intents and purposes, Dean might as well have had a pile of bricks sitting on his hand that prevented movement. He looked up at the beautifully tormented face of his little brother, and felt something seize in his chest. Part of him wanted to just beat the conflict out of Sam, to reduce him to base need and nothing else, but another part, the human part that remained, remembered this was Sam. 

For a moment, the two parts of himself fought for dominance, but the human side was weak and it didn’t take much to send it screaming into submission. “No?” Dean tried to move his hand once more. The pressure intensified, and Sam stood up and over him, his eyes never leaving Dean. 

“I won’t let you do this, we can fix you.”

It wasn’t just pressure against his hand this time, but a blanket of energy that seemed to press down on Dean like a mountain of invisible weights. Dean tried to move, tried to break free, but it was no use, Sam was filled to the brim with power, power that Dean had forced upon him. 

He retaliated in the only way that he could, and it was dirty and underhanded, but demons rarely played fair. He burst out laughing, the sound cold and broken like shattered glass, and then he smiled, a slow, toothy grin. “Fix what, exactly? There isn’t anything to be fixed, because there’s nothing left. You’re _weak_ , Sammy. Pathetic. Why are you even here still? Just end it already. Everyone you’ve ever cared about is dead. Mom, Jessica, Dad, Bobby, Charlie, me. You can’t even admit it to yourself that it’s your fault. All of it.”

“Dean...don’t.” Sam’s voice wavered, and along with it his concentration. Dean took the opportunity and broke free, coming up swinging and lunging towards Sam. His fist connected with Sam’s jaw even as the taller man rolled with the punch. He stumbled backwards into the chair, the flimsy piece of furniture breaking his fall and fractured under his weight. Dean let out a bark of laughter as Sam weakly kicked out at him from his prone position, a half-assed attempt to take out knees. 

“C’mon, Sammy, is that all you got?” Dean goaded Sam as he stood over his brother, his feet planted, a fighting stance, his hands flexing. “I’ve got some grade A demon blood in me, you can do better than that.” 

Sam’s expression hardened, his eyes grew distant as he glared up at Dean. He reached up a hand, the fingers trembling just slightly as they buzzed with restrained energy, and pushed his will into Dean. The demon flinched, then winced as sharp, blinding pain shot through his skull like a lightning bolt. Dean groaned, his fingers clutching at his head as he staggered backwards. His shins hit the edge of the bed and he fell forward onto the mattress, writhing in agony even as his head hit the sheets. He gasped, panted, grit his teeth and trembled when Sam temporarily lifted the pressure, but convulsed into a screaming mess when it intensified double-fold.

Unable to see, hear, speak, or even control his muscles, Dean forced a laugh through the pain, and the sound came out inhuman, laced with misery and triumph. He wanted this, desperately needed this from Sam. Pain was good, pain meant he was still alive, still human somewhere. Pain was the last shred of humanity left in him, and there were so few people left in this world that could give it to him like this. 

The gurgled laughter continued, fractured and tortured and manic and desperate. Sam stood over the bed, his eyes hard like pebbles as he stared down at Dean. There was blood on Dean’s lips, he must have bitten his tongue, and more blood poured from his nose and ears. “Enough of this Dean. You need help, you’re sick. Let’s get you home, and I’ll deal with...this...after.”

Dean shook his head, and only grinned as he made to lunge for Sam again. But he was off balance, and it was clumsy, and this time the taller man was ready. Sam pounced on Dean and sat astride him, using both mental powers and physical presence to stop Dean dead in his tracks. “What is it that you want from me!? Do you _want_ me to hurt you? Is that what you want?!” Sam screamed down at his brother, his voice breaking as spittle landed on Dean’s cheeks. When Dean said nothing, only kept snickering under his breath, Sam hissed, and snatched up a fistful of Dean’s hair, yanking the man’s head back. “Fuck you, Dean—I can’t—So much effort—I just can’t—”

“Good,” Dean said between gritted teeth, wincing and smiling bloody. “Hurt me, Sammy. I gotta feel something, anything. I want you to hurt me.” 

If Dean had wanted to say anything else, he was given no chance as Sam’s lips came crashing against his own, knocking his teeth into his lips and cutting the flesh. Sam’s tongue was inside Dean’s mouth, questing, demanding, and oh so greedily lapping up everything Dean had to offer. Dean tried to hang onto Sam, but the younger man was having none of it, and snatched both Dean’s wrists in one large hand before pulling his arms over his head. 

It was this feeling of being trapped, of being needed and used, that had driven Dean to seek out Sam. The feeling of being controlled as Sam trailed burning kisses down his throat to latch onto his collarbone was both exhilarating and terrifying, and it lit a fire deep inside Dean’s belly that he thought had gone out forever. When had he become so bored with life? So unconcerned with feelings, and emotions, and caring? When had the lust for life left him? Was it when he first touched the mark, or was it when his eyes first flickered black? 

A sharp flare of pain made him shiver, and Dean was reminded that it didn’t fucking matter when or how he’d turned the switch off. What mattered is that Sam was here now, and was pressing deep dark bruises into his wrists that would last long after they parted ways. That Sam was lapping along his exposed skin, and pressing between his legs. That _Sam_ was the one that was making him feel.

Sam wrestled with the rising urgency in his gut, and moaned in desperation as he struggled to suppress it. The power was threatening to burst out all at once, and, combined with his lust, the possibility that Sam might actually kill Dean was a very real fear. Not that the death would be permanent, the Mark wouldn’t allow it, but that train of rational thought was completely beyond him as Sam’s control continued to fray.

He needed to channel this burning desire for destruction into something else, something potentially less damaging, and as the ability to think deserted him, Sam reacted in the only way his body knew how. He let go of Dean’s arms, but kept him pinned down by will. He drank in the sight laid out in front of him, the exposed bare skin, framed by the rumpled maroon shirt trapped beneath his body, and the straining outline of Dean’s arousal. Sam’s fingers trailed down lower to rest at the junction of Dean’s thighs, nudging and pushing them further apart.

Dean was breathing heavily now, his eyes peering down through hooded lids. His hips stuttered as he thrust up, desperately seeking some form of contact as his arousal strained under the taut fabric of his jeans. Sam grinned, and ran a long finger along the edge of the outline, pausing when he reached the tip before giving a sharp squeeze, and was rewarded with some choice words of swearing as Dean convulsed on the mattress. 

Once upon a time, Sam would have delighted in taking this slow, pull Dean apart piece by piece and watch him completely unravel into a begging, desperate mess. But that time was in the past, and the Dean that now lay in front of him wasn’t even the same person. Damage was all a matter of degrees after all, and Dean had said he wanted to be hurt. To bleed. 

When he grabbed Dean and flipped him over abruptly onto hands and knees, the smaller man went easy, with a sort of carefully casual acceptance that Sam was in control and there wasn’t a point in fighting anymore. The level of submission there, even if it was half-faked, gave Sam a heady rush.

Dean bit his lip against a yelp when Sam yanked his jeans and boxers down around his knees, the denim rubbing friction rashes into his thighs and the zipper leaving angry welts. His blood sang and his head spun deliciously, and he didn’t care about the pain, didn’t care that Sam’ didn’t care. He hollowed his back and pushed his hips back, angling his legs as wide as he could. His balls hung heavy between his legs, and his cock twitched upwards as streaks of pre-cum leaked to soak into the sheets beneath him. The calloused palms of Sam’s hands were hot against his shoulder blades, the blunt nails dragging scratches, but God, he needed Sam in him. _Now_. 

There was some fumbling behind him, Dean didn’t need to look back to know that Sam was pushing his own jeans down his hips. He jumped when Sam’s cock dragged between his ass cheeks, and bit back a groan when he felt the beads of cooling pre-cum slick against his heated skin. 

He had hoped that Sam wouldn’t be gentle, but Dean was not prepared when Sam abruptly plunged into him without preparation. Searing pain shot up Dean’s spine, and his screams echoed, bouncing off the walls all around them. “Jesusfuckinggoddammit–” Multicoloured words were cut short when Sam pulled back, only to drive right back inside him in one swift, brutal thrust. 

Something slick and wet coated Sam’s cock as he rocked into Dean’s rigid body a third time, the sweet, cloying aroma of blood wafted up to cloud Sam’s senses, chipping away at his last shred of self control. His fingers dug into Dean’s hips, the nail breaking skin even as the digits left deep, dark imprints that would later turn into nasty bruises. Sam’s skin was tingling, and his whole body burned with the need to unleash all that energy that he so desperately held back. Just a little longer, he needed Dean to open up to him just a little more so he could let go. 

Pressure built behind his eyes, and just when he thought his skull was going to burst wide open, he gave up control and let his body take over. His hips set a rhythm that left his lungs burning, his forearms bulged as he pulled Dean’s hips back to meet his every thrust. So focused was Sam on his need, that he was completely oblivious to the agonized screams coming from the pliant body beneath him. 

The pace was painful, excruciating in its intensity, the thrusts worse, but Dean could only feel his cock growing harder as his mind soared. He could feel every tiny pull of Sam’s flesh against his own, the slickness of his blood as it trickled down his thighs. He could feel each of Sam’s nails digging into his flesh, and he tasted Sam’s desperation to end this. Dean laughed, the sound breaking up as it turned into yet another gut wrenching scream. His body was a sea of pain, bordering on falling apart completely, and for the first time in months, the feeling of being alive was so overwhelming that Dean wept. 

It was over all too soon, Dean barely registered when Sam’s hips completely lost their rhythm and slammed against him mindlessly. He panted against the sheets as Sam’s hand reached around his belly to wrap his cock in an iron grip, and rocked into Sam’s fist as pressure built up rapidly. The salty burn of Sam’s release shooting deep in his bowels pushed Dean over his own teetering edge, and he nearly blacked out when he came. Dean’s throat felt raw, his limbs were jello as he fell face first into the soiled sheets. His body shuddered when Sam pulled out, leaving him feeling empty and ravaged as his tortured ring of muscle screamed in fresh agony .

The room was silent save for ragged breathing. Sam collapsed next to Dean, his gaze heavy with pain and sorrow as he stared at his brother. At some point, Dean’s eyes had faded back to green, and even flinching with pain, the contentment there was hard to miss. Sam’s heart clenched at the sight. He reached out and smoothed a hand over Dean’s forehead, noting that it felt fevered and clammy. “Jesus,” he whispered, “Is this what we’ve come to?”

With a half-smile, Dean coughed, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. “Together, little brother, we’ll rule the world.”


End file.
